


Like-Frequency

by Stellarath



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Mystery, quantum physics concepts, some sci-fi things relating to technology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellarath/pseuds/Stellarath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A radio talk show. Conspiracies. Vigilance. A competition and a strange game that brings Root and Shaw together.  </p>
<p>AU in which Root is a conspiracy (but not limited to) radio talk show host and Shaw tunes in one day</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Machine

_“Today’s weather is looking cloudy as fall sets in--”_ No, boring. Shaw didn’t need a damn meteorologist to tell her that. Anyone with eyes could look out their window and see as much.

_“Spooky, scary skeletons--”_ Hell no. But Halloween music was always better than the 2 month slew of nonstop Christmas songs rapidly approaching.

_“Hello everyone, and welcome to the Machine.”_ At least she can appreciate the Pink Floyd reference. She’ll give this station a chance. It was definitely not because she wanted to hear more of this woman’s velvety voice. _“As always you can call me Root. Our number is 504-6741 if you wanna call in.”_

_“We’ve got a fun topic and special guest call tonight: Project Blue Book, the government’s supposedly transparent endeavour to catalogue each incident of UFO contact. While the ‘reports’ show nothing anomalous about each contact, we’ve got intel that this entire project is merely a smokescreen for real extraterrestrial visitation.”_

Oh, great. It was one of those stations. The conspiracy nuts. But how picky can she be at this point? She’s spent the past hour flipping through channels, avoiding the endless pile of paperwork consuming her desk. If these patient reports weren’t so mind numbingly boring and if that woman’s voice wasn’t so satisfying to listen to, she would have changed the channel by now.

_“And our special guest, Philip Shepard, claims to be apart of that cover-up as an ex. top secret agent from the Majestic 12. How exciting! So, Philip, what can you tell us?”_

_“Well, Root, a popular theory is that the government planted fake UFO data in order to cover-up the real incidents at Roswell and I have to say--”_

_“Oh! Looks like we’ve already got a caller! It’s Harold. Hi Harry, so glad you could join us again tonight.”_ The woman perks up, sounding more animated than before.

_“Yes, me too, Root.”_ A more regal voice begins. _“A bit off topic, but I was wondering if you’ve heard about a ‘game’ people have been playing.”_

_“Well actually the truth behind Roswell is really integral--”_ The other man tries to interject.

_“A game? Sounds fun. I haven’t Harry, please enlighten us.”_

Shaw smirks in spite of herself. Obviously this Root chick and ‘Harry’ couldn’t care less about what the first guy had to say. 

_“Yes, some say this game doesn’t even exist. Others who have played and claim to have won mysteriously disappeared thereafter. Strange, isn’t it?”_

_“Clearly aliens have set this up in order to control our minds and make us do their bidding.”_ Shaw rolls her eyes. The first guy was a damn idiot. _“And that’s just the first step. Next, they’ll impregnate our women with their babies!”_ Ok, that’s it. Before Shaw can stop herself, she’s dialing the station’s hotline. 

_“Another caller? Busy night. Hold on for a second, Harry! Hello caller and welcome to the Machine!”_

“Yeah, hi. Do you actually believe any of this crap?” Shaw grumbles over the line.

_“Believe? The writing’s on the walls, miss. I was abducted just last week. They had me probed! I’m telling you, they’re taking our DNA to splice it with theirs to create some type of hybrid alien mutant--”_

Beep. 

_“Looks like Philip had some technical difficulties. Hope he isn’t getting abducted again.”_ A smirk audible in Root’s voice. _“Sorry about that. So what’s your name sweetie?”_

“None of your business. Really though, aliens impregnating our women? What are you guys smoking?”

_“We at the Machine take pride in a smoke-free work environment. It’s really not good for your brain cells.”_ Root warns teasingly.

“Neither is filling the public with this bullshit.” Shaw counters. Is she really wasting her time calling these nutjobs? I guess anything beats paperwork.

_“To be fair, Philip’s mind is a bit, well, out of this world. Is it so hard to believe that nonhuman intelligence exists? ”_

“No actually, you’re right. I think dogs are smarter than most people.” Shaw quips, hanging up. 

_“Well, she’s not wrong. Harry, you still there?”_

Shaw’s phone lights up and begins to buzz. A picture of Reese mid-sneeze spilling coffee on his desk fills her phone’s screen. She turns the radio down as the Harry guy begins to speak, answering Reese’s call.

“What do you want, Reese? You don’t wanna borrow my Nano again, do you? I just got her back.” Aggravation evident in her voice.

_“No Shaw, your gun is safe. Though you may not be from those aliens impregnating women.”_

“Oh God. You listen to that shit? Didn’t think you were the conspiracy type of guy, ex-government and all.”

_“You’re one to talk. My friend Harold is a regular caller. I almost didn’t believe it was you over the radio. Since when did you get into the scene?”_

“I’m not. Do you know how many stations the hospital gets? Not many. Listening to the top 5 pop songs over and over really drills into the brain. It makes you desperate.” Shaw recounts with disdain the many hours she’s heard Taylor Swift. How many hits could one popstar have?

_“Sounds like you’ve been cooped up there too long. Why don’t you join Harold and I for dinner?”_

Shaw stares in disgust at the mounds of paper that have encased her for the past few days. What’s the harm in putting it off some more? She’s always been an excellent doctor, but all this desk work really wasn’t her thing. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Where at?” she asks, shedding her lab coat and replacing it with her peacoat.

_“Meet us at the Multiverse.”_

* * *

The restaurant had a space-y but classical ambiance. Walking in made Shaw feel like she was in another reality with the blue lighting, futuristic furnishing, and sleek floors. She spots Reese waving her over the crowds of people at a corner booth.

“Nice place. Is nerd your new thing now?” Shaw slides in the seat next to Reese.

“It’s mine,” the man in the glasses sitting across from them speaks up. He extends his hand out to Shaw, smiling pleasantly. “Harold Finch. It’s nice to meet you Ms. Shaw.” 

“Pleasure,” she replies curtly.

“Mr. Reese tells me he and you are good friends.”

“Is that what he says? He’s holding out on you. We’re known as the ‘Mayhem Twins’ at the station.”

“You assist him in cases?” Finch asks in surprise. “I thought you were a doctor.”

“I am, but every now and then he needs me to come in and help break a case.” Shaw shrugs, sifting through the electronic menu attached on the table for steak. “I used to be in the military so I have experience on the field.”

“Better than most of the force with a gun.” Reese adds.

“It appears he left out quite a bit. Particularly your adeptness with guns.” Finch’s eyes shift to Reese who grins sheepishly. 

“How do you know him?” Shaw asks, inputting her order and hitting ‘send.’

“Harold here helped me find a purpose long before we met, Shaw. After I left the military, I had some rough times but Harold cleaned me up.” Admiration was clear in Reese’s expression, they must have been through alot together.

“I’d pay to see you as a bum.” Shaw smirks at Reese, trying to picture him in tattered clothes and rowdy hair. “So do you help vets re-assimilate into civilian life or something?”

“If you count teaching them in a classroom, then yes. I’m a computer science professor at IFT University.”

IFT. Why did those three letters sound familiar? She glances up at one of the restaurant’s many TVs and--oh, that’s why. The news couldn’t shut up about the company’s latest technological breakthrough: virtual reality headsets, where you can “experience a world so real that reality won’t be enough.” The headsets weren’t available to the public yet, currently in beta testing.

Shaw points to the TV. “You guys working with the aliens?” 

Finch chuckles. “No, my particular students have been researching something a bit less flashy.” 

“Do your students know you wear a tinfoil hat in your free time?”

“I hardly buy into everything ‘Welcome to the Machine’ preaches and neither does the host for that matter.” Finch states plainly, adjusting his suit. “Really, it’s more of a hobby with a friend.”

That piques Shaw’s interest. “You two close?”

“I’ve been a guest on her show a few times. Specifically on topics about artificial intelligence. She’s quite brilliant.”

Shaw notes to tune in from now on to hear this ‘brilliance’ in action. Hey, it still beats pop songs.

* * *

Root’s show is biweekly, Shaw figures out. Days of tuning in at 7pm to find nothing but music from the ‘70s almost convinced her that the show was on some hidden channel until she hears:

_“Hello everyone, and welcome to the Machine. As always you can call me Root. Our number is 504-6741 if you wanna call in. We’ve got some mysterious sightings to report, but not the kind you’re thinking. These particular sightings deal with the nautilus shell. I have Harry with me who knows more about this.”_

Finch clears his throat. _“Yes, I’ve encountered a clue that may be a piece of the puzzle. It seems everything related to the game is marked with a nautilus shell. On the street, I noticed a nautilus on a lost dog flyer with the number 950-641-6701. While that sounds like a long shot, I think it may be worth investigating.”_

Out of sheer curiosity, Shaw dials the number into her phone. _“We’re sorry. The number that you dialed is not a working number.”_ Lame.

_“I’m sure many of you have tried the number by now and found that it’s not functional. I believe it’s not a phone number at all, but an algorithm.”_ He pauses. _“Root, shouldn’t you wait until after the show before attempting to decipher the riddle?”_

_“My bad. But I already solved it. It was easy.”_ Shaw scoffs. The ego on this one. It takes her back to her conversation with Finch yesterday, about Root being brilliant. He didn’t mention her arrogance. Shaw grabs a strewn patient report and begins scrawling the numbers. She’s not the only one who’s brilliant. I can do nerd.

After several attempts and several different methods, Shaw finally solves it. GPS coordinates. In her focus, she must have tuned the show out because it was now ending. Did an hour really go by that fast?

_“Alright everyone that about wraps up our show tonight. Thanks for coming out Harry! Oh, and don’t forget to sign up for our annual Conspiratition.”_ What the fuck? Conspira-what? 

_“Prove your theories within 6 months and win a prize! Sign-ups are on our site, though you may not want to bother. I’m undefeated.”_

Is that even allowed? Shaw’s pretty sure that hosts aren’t allowed to compete in their own competition. Whatever. She’ll just win the game, use it to prove whatever conspiracy crap is behind it, and beat Root’s record. No big deal.

* * *

“Hey Reese, mind doing me a favor?” Shaw calls as she enters the police station.

“What is it? And shouldn’t you be working?” Reese asks, mouth overflowing with sandwich. 

“It’s my day off. There’s this competition I entered--”

“For that conspiracy radio show? You’re getting yourself invested.” Reese says, choking down his interrupted bite.

“Yeah--” Shaw tries to speak.

“You two talkin’ about Coco Puffs?” Fusco chimes in, leaning over his desk across from Reese’s.

“Who?” Shaw asks, growing irritated at being interrupted again.

“You know, that nutty chick over the radio.” Fusco states, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“You listen to that too?” Reese asks.

“You kidding? My kid and I listen all the time. I can’t get enough of those wackos she brings on.” Fusco chuckles, his laughter dying down when he notices Shaw’s annoyance. “Sorry, did I interrupt something?”

Shaw turns addressing Reese. “I cracked the number Finch gave, they were coordinates to a mural. It had the nautilus shell so I know I was at the right place. I need another pair of eyes to help me solve the next piece of the puzzle.”

“Sorry Shaw, last time someone - ” Reese’s eyes shift to Fusco “ - asked me for help with this conspiracy stuff, we ended up looking for mutants in a sewer. Not my idea of a fun time.”

“Hey, my kid was scared and I had to show him his old man isn’t afraid of anything. Besides I bought you new shoes, what more do you want?”

“My sense of smell back.”

“Fine. See if I help you the next time you’re shot.” Shaw sneers, grabbing Reese’s sandwich and heading for the door. _Pastrami and BBQ sauce? Gross._ Reese lets out a defeated sigh while Fusco chuckles. 

Regardless of Reese’s odd tastes, Shaw devours it while making her way back to the mural. She needs to take another look.

* * *

Shaw glares at the mural. Maybe if she leered at it long enough, the puzzle would solve itself. The mural showed a splattering of shattered glass or ice with eleven horseshoes on the surface. Some horseshoes had blocks on them and some did not. As long as she looked she wasn’t able to figure out its pattern. She sighs in frustration as people walk by her when there's a tap on her shoulder.

“Do I know you?” A velvety voice calls from behind her.

Wait. That voice. It couldn't be. Shaw turns to see a tall brunette wearing a biker jacket and a shirt with a UFO that read “They Exist.” _Yup. That’s Root._ If Shaw spoke now she was sure her stony voice would be a dead giveaway, if Root even remembers her calling in. Instead she shakes her head, staring at Root (who was hot as hell by the way. Not at all what she was expecting) impassively while she works through several voices she could adjust to in her mind.

“Oh. You seem familiar.” Root shrugs. “You playing the game too? I can give you a hint if you’re stuck.” Root attempts to wink but instead her face scrunches awkwardly. _This is more of what I was expecting._

Shaw finally decides to settle on a higher pitched feminine voice. “I can handle it just fine, thanks!” Wow. She sounded way too peppy for her own good. She should tone it down a notch.

“Really? Because you’ve been here for over an hour.” Root persists. “There aren't any rules for this game. Anything goes. We could even partner up.”

Shaw narrows her eyes in suspicion. “What's in it for you?” This voice is starting to burn her throat as well as her pride. 

“Just being a good samaritan.” Root says casually.

Shaw considers the offer. As long as Root didn't know she was doing this for that dumb Conspiratition she could take advantage of Root’s help. “Ok. I’ll work with you.”

Root breaks out into a grin. “We're going to have so much fun together. Who doesn't love a good mystery?”


	2. Clues

“This your geek hideout?” Shaw’s voice cracks, straining to maintain this exhausting peppy tone.

“You can drop the voice act. I recognized your voice the moment you spoke, sweetie.” Root calls behind her as they enter the radio station. “Wouldn’t want you to lose your beautiful voice. And yes, welcome to the Machine.” Shaw scoffs. _Shouldn’t have chosen such a perky voice I guess._

“Root! We weren't expecting you to be in today,” a bearded man greets. 

“Special occasion Jase. We’ve got a new conspirator in our ranks.”

“Don’t ever call me that again.” Shaw grumbles.

“She's just a little shy.” Root says, hiding her mouth from Shaw as if she can’t hear her.

He laughs nervously as Shaw gives Root a death glare. “Jason Greenfield.”

“Sameen Shaw.” 

Root makes her way past Greenfield to retrieve a laptop. She motions Shaw over to the broadcast room and Shaw, not wanting anymore conspirators to open conversation with her, follows.

“So the mural is actually a variation of a bongard puzzle. It shows two sets of diagrams: in one set, none of the blocks are touching the curved lines.” Root points to an image of the mural on her laptop. “In the last set, all of the blocks overlap with the curves, but there is one less diagram shown. That missing diagram is the key to our little mystery.” Root sketches out a horseshoe curve with three overlapping blocks on the top.

“An arch? That looks like the bridge I run by every morning in Central Park.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that.” 

“I wouldn’t mind getting out of this nerd hole you have here. It smells.”

Root wrinkles her nose. “I usually light candles when I'm on. You should stop by sometime.”

“Sounds like a fire hazard.” Shaw declines. “Sorry but death isn't on my radar.” 

“I’ve always pictured myself going out in a blaze of glory.”

An uncomfortable feeling rises in Shaw. Something didn't sit right with that statement. “Can we just go to the arch?”

“After you.”

* * *

The sun sets by the time they get there, making it that much harder for Shaw to see anything under this dank bridge. She feels like a troll. 

“Root! I can't find anything.” Shaw calls out from below. No response. Sighing, Shaw heaves herself up and begins making her way to higher ground. 

She spots Root staring at signs in the middle of the street as cars beep and zoom past her. _Does she have a damn death wish?_ Just as Shaw reaches the top, a drunk driver approaches Root rapidly. _For fuck’s sake._ Shaw hurtles forward and slams into Root, knocking her to the grass as the driver slurs swears at them from his speeding car.

“What is wrong with you?” Shaw growls from on top of her.

Root brushes her hair off her face as she meets Shaw’s glare. “Didn’t know you cared, Shaw.”

“I don’t want to have to clean you off the side of the road. Besides, I’m a doctor. I’d be the one to have to stitch your ass up.”

“Remind me to take my next physical with you.” Root coos, wiping a smudge from Shaw’s face with her thumb.

Shaw rolls off of Root and dusts herself from blades of grass. “What were you looking at so intensely anyway?”

Root shifts to stand and points to a row of sports banners. “I found the next piece.”

Root leads Shaw to the spot she was standing in when no cars are coming and angles Shaw towards the banners. “There’s a nautilus on the banners if you line them up correctly, with a streetlight border on the ends. That border is more than some tacky decoration, it’s braille, reading ‘184th and 3rd’.”

Shaw shifts restlessly in the spot, struggling to get the picture Root sees. She feels Root press up against her back, Root’s hands resting on her biceps, directing her ever-so-slightly. Root leans forward close to Shaw, hot breath in her ear and murmurs, “Right there.”

Not anticipating the action, Shaw barely manages to suppress a shiver. “Yeah, got it. Thanks.” 

Root lingers for a moment before Shaw shoves her off. “Let’s go.”

* * *

At 184th and 3rd, lines of cop cars and an ambulance surround a small biker bar. Root and Shaw approach the police tape and a woman comes to address them.

“Agent Carter,” she flashes them her FBI badge. “This is a crime scene. You need to clear the area,” she orders.

“What happened here?” Shaw asks. “I’m a doctor, maybe I can help.”

“Sorry ma’am, this is a federal investigation. Can’t let civilians interfere.” The agent informs.

“Hello, detective.” Reese appears. “Sorry, old habits die hard. I mean agent Carter.”

“Hello to you too detective Reese.” 

“Reese?” Shaw wasn’t expecting to see him.

“Shaw.” Reese greets with mild surprise. He shoots Root a curious look, “Who’s your friend?”

“You can call me Root,” she smiles.

Reese cocks an eyebrow, smirking. “You’ve really invested, Shaw.”

“Can it, asshole.” Shaw glares. Root gives Shaw a smug smile that Shaw wants to punch off.

“Is this a party or something? How come I wasn’t invited?” Fusco jumps in.

“Have you met Root, Fusco?” Reese asks.

Fusco looks around. “You mean Cocoa Puffs is here?”

Root scrunches her face at the nickname. “Yeah, she’s right here,” Shaw says to Fusco, nudging her elbow at Root.

“My kid and I are big fans of your show. We even entered the Conspiratition last year.” Fusco fawns. Carter shoots him a weird glance to which Fusco responds defensively, “What? Reese did it too.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Reese mutters to Carter. 

“I’m always happy to meet conspirators.” Root tilts her head to Shaw. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Reese’s eyes dart between the two women and Shaw glares daggers at him, knowing that he’ll understand the message: ‘Say another word and I’ll kill you.’ He tries to suppress a grin. 

“Can I get a recording of you saying ‘Welcome to the Machine’ for my kid? He would go nuts!” Fusco requests.

“Absolutely.” Root obliges.

Fusco giddily takes Root to the side while Shaw tries to regain some focus on the crime scene. “This have anything to do with the nautilus game?”

Carter nods grimly. “This is the 3rd murder involving the game. Is that why you two are here?”

“Yeah.” 

“I suggest you quit before you end up getting killed. It’s a dangerous game. We’ll be doing a sweep of the city and putting players under protective custody until they choose to quit playing or we catch the perps.” 

“Noted.” 

Root and Fusco return, Fusco giggling at his new ringtone. Shaw grabs Root’s arm, dragging her away from the scene. “C’mon Root. There’s nothing for us here.” 

Root leans to whisper in Shaw’s ear, “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Someone's been killing other players so the FBI’s been taking them off the streets. We gotta play in the shadows now.”

“I’d never mind playing in the dark with you, Sam.” Root waggles her brows. Shaw rolls her eyes, detaching herself from Root. The woman was a damn flirt.

* * *

Avoiding paperwork once more, Shaw rests her head in her arms while she waits for Root’s broadcast to air.

_“Hello everyone, and welcome to the Machine. As always you can call me Root. Our number is 504-6741 if you wanna call in.”_ She hates to admit it, but since she found Root’s show she has yet to miss a broadcast. Meeting Root in the flesh might have something to do with her newfound hobby. Her radio is the most used app on her phone now.

_“We’re starting off with some bad news: three players have been murdered so far in the game we discussed two weeks ago. The FBI doesn’t seem to have any suspects. If you choose to continue playing, be safe out there. We’ll give updates if anyone is caught. Now to move on to a more interesting topic: government surveillance. With the advancement of technology, you have to wonder, is the government spying on us?”_

_“That’s a no-brainer question,”_ a deep voice answers.

_“What the--? I don’t remember ever answering any calls. Looks like we’re getting hijacked.”_ Shaw raises her head from her desk and stares at her phone, alert.

_“We’ve been listening to your channel since its inception and we like that you’re a woman of freedom. We also know you highly value your privacy. So we’re going to share some truth to you and your listeners.”_

_“Alright folks, my team is running some interference to get this channel secured. Please stand by.”_

_“Listen closely and remember it well. The government is spying on us. They have access to every camera, every microphone, archives of old footage since the dawn of cameras, and every bit of data you’ve posted online.”_

_“How do you know this?”_ Root sounds skeptical and confident, like she has zero concerns for the hack-in-progress.

_“Because we know that you are a supposed dead woman, hiding ever since you were 12 after the death of your friend, Hanna Frey and that there hasn’t been a trace of you since. Until a couple years ago when you started this show.”_

There’s a pause. _“...Those are some wild assertions for an anonymous voice.”_ Root’s voice shakes. Shaw’s eyes widen as Root’s tone confirms the man’s claim. She heads for the door, pocketing her phone (keeping the channel on to keep listening), and rushing to her car. She doesn’t know why but she feels compelled to keep Root safe somehow, a strange pull leading her to the radio station.

_“Are they, Root? Or should we say Samanth--”_ Samantha? Was that Root’s real name? 

_“Shut up.”_

The voice chuckles. _“I think we’ve made our point clear. Stay vigilant.”_

_...crrrcht..._

There are several moments of silence. Shaw is doing her best not to obviously speed but she really couldn’t give a shit right now.

_“...Ahh well. I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this broadcast short. Sorry to those calling.”_

Radio silence.

_“Hey everybody. It’s me Daniel! We’ve had some technical difficulties here tonight so we’re gonna cut back to music.”_

Shaw finally pulls up to the station, shoving past fanboys gathered outside.

“Hey, you’re not allowed in there! They won’t let you in,” a scrawny, pubescent fanboy declares, grabbing her shoulder.

“Watch me.” Shaw sneers, flicking away the boy’s hand like it’s a pest. She pushes in the doors where Root’s nerd herd greet her. Shaw flips the fanboys off as she makes her way to the broadcast room.

“Root? You in here?” 

“Hey sweetie. Didn’t expect to see you tonight.” Root says lightheartedly, attempting to deflect the obvious state of disarray she’s in. She’s focused intently on her laptop, barely flashing Shaw a weak smile before continuing to type rapidly. She’s lit only by the screen of her computer and several candles around her. 

“I heard the broadcast.”

“You still listen? The Lurch might have been right about your investment. Is that why you came to see me?”

“No, I came to track those assholes down. Figured this was the best place to start.” Shaw half-lies, joining Root by her side. 

Root looks...disappointed? - hurt? - Shaw couldn’t tell - but it’s gone in a flash. “Already on it. They call themselves ‘Vigilance,’ a group that supposedly fights for our privacy. They don’t seem to care much for the safety of others, though. Ends justify the means.” Root shrugs. “Unfortunately for Vigilance, their trail is just as sloppy as any other amatuer hacker group. I managed to track a series of encrypted messages in the darknet over the past 2 months and found - ” Root pulls up a webpage displaying the nautilus shell “ - this on an anonymous message board.”

“So Vigilance is linked to the game. Could they be running it?” 

“No, the messages I found were more about getting information on other players rather than the game itself.”

“Think they could be the ones behind the murders?” 

“Looks likely. The players they’ve gotten information on include the 3 murder victims. I compiled a list of all known players they seem to be targeting.”

“That explains why they targeted you then. That must have been a warning.” Shaw says tensely.

“If they know so much about me, they should know their little scare tactic won’t stop me from playing.”

“Root…” Shaw warns.

“You said you wanted to find them, Shaw. Our best bet is to keep playing until they make good on their threat.” Root smiles obnoxiously wide for someone whose life is in danger. “Besides, you said it was time to play in the shadows. Don’t you want to play with me?”

Shaw stares intently at Root for a few moments before letting out a heavy sigh. “Fine, but we’re playing on my terms. No more risking your life to stare at a stupid clue and we’ll meet on the weekends. I need to stop avoiding my paperwork to go looking for scary things in the dark with you.”

“Call me if you ever need a distraction.” Root says suggestively.

“Whatever. Let’s just focus on the game.” Shaw huffs. “I’ll meet you at the 8th precinct next weekend.”

“Anything for you.”

* * *

“How’s doing your new ‘hobby,’ Shaw?” Reese asks with an amused expression, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his coffee.

“That’s not why I’m here, Reese.” Shaw slams a manila folder down on his desk. Reese was enjoying her partnership with Root way too much. Because that’s all it was: a partnership. “We think we know who’s behind the murders. I don’t know if you heard Root’s last broadcast but her station got hacked by the same people.”

Fusco, upon hearing Shaw, grabs the folder off of Reese’s desk and examines its contents--which only contained two pages. Not much was known about the group. “Vigilance?”

“They’re an organization that’s all about stopping government surveillance. They’re convinced that Big Brother’s always watching.”

“Is this all you could get?” Reese asks.

“That, and a list of players they were recently after that posted on the website. The three murder victims are listed. Looks like they’re searching for more players since they targeted Root.”

“Is she ok?” Fusco asks. “My kid was pretty worried. He almost made go down there to check on her.”

“I’m fine, Lionel.” Root says, approaching the desk. “It’ll take a bit more than a little voice changer to scare me.” She hands Shaw a steak and cheese sub which Shaw snatches greedily. “Thought you might like this. You’re welcome.” Shaw gives her a wry smile through her already stuffed mouth.

“Where’s mine? You owe me one from last time, Shaw.” Reese pouts.

“I didn’t forget the boys.” Root hands them each a sandwich which they take gratefully. 

“I like her.” Reese claims as he hastily unwraps his sub.

“Glad to hear it. How’s the investigation going, detective?” Root flashes him a charming smile.

“Bar’s back up and running but beyond what you and Shaw just gave us, we have no more leads.” Reese discloses. “Are you guys really still playing?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Ok, Fusco and I won’t stop you but Carter is a different story. We’ll forward this list to her. Just be careful out there.” Reese cautions.

“Call us if you need backup.” Fusco offers.

“Thanks fellas.” Root turns to Shaw. “Ready to head out?”

Shaw nods, throwing her sub wrapper into the trash as they leave the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to update before the finale aired since this chapter was written way before then but I was too emotional about it. :'( And my gf and I had to work out certain kinks in further chapters that required viewing of the finale first. Thanks for all the support!

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite episodes in s5 is QSO so I had to write something with talk show Root! Perspectives will rotate between Root and Shaw occasionally. This story is a collaborative piece between me and my lovely girlfriend.


End file.
